A Dance In The Dark
by Sugarflier
Summary: In a post civil war Johto where training has been banned, those wishing to pursue a life with Pokemon are branded outlaws and hunted by government forces. Ralph Heenan, an intellectually gifted and smart mouthed teenager with multiple myeloma and absolutely nothing to lose, decides what he wants to do with the rest of his life, though. Or what little remains of it anyway.
1. The Logical Genius

A Dance In The Dark

Chapter One

The Logical Genius

* * *

Author's Note : First of all, here's the obligatory disclaimer : done without profit for entertainment, yada yada yada, Pokemon belongs to Nintendo, everything original belongs to me.

Now! I present to you 'A Dance In The Dark', an original trainer story set after the events of another story of mine, 'Shedding Skins'. Don't panic, though,this is not a sequel, has little to do with the plot of Shedding Skins, and everything that needs explained will be explained for those of you who haven't read Shedding Skins. In short, either story can be read on its own and will still make sense even if you haven't read the other.

So, I thank everyone for their reviews and support in advance, and enjoy!

* * *

I heard my name being called. I took the steps up to the stage two at a time, dressed in a pair of jeans and an old band t-shirt. My graduation robes and stupid graduation hat were nowhere in sight. Mr. Kennedy - the head teacher at my school, and also the one giving out our results - faltered when he saw me. He offered me his hand and I promptly ignored it.

"Thanks," I said as insincerely as possible, grabbing the envelope and yanking it out of his grip. After he called your name, you were meant to take your envelope with your results in it and get off the stage as quickly as possible to make sure he could get through everyone in time. Also, you were meant to wear the graduation clothes. You see, instead of just sending the results through your letterbox, my school insisted on this stupid graduation kind of thing since a lot of people didn't come back after their fourth year of high school.

I stood there in front of him, tore the envelope open and pulled out my results. A pluses for maths, physics, chemistry and computing, a solid A for both physical education and business studies and an A minus for English and modern studies. I expected nothing less. I was clever and I knew it - eight A grades and I hadn't studied once this year.

I dropped all the paper at my feet for Mr. Kennedy to clean up and walked off the stage, flipping him the finger as I did so. You could hear a pin drop as I walked off the stage. No one was quite sure what to make of my behavior.

I waited until no one could see me before I started running - I didn't want to ruin my air of confidence. I sprinted, jumped and tumbled over the high fence that led into the park. I kept sprinting. I reached the little stream and jumped that as well - the bridge was too far away and there was too little time - and landed on the other side. I kept running. I was starting to feel weak, but I'd sooner die than miss my last day.

Running and taking the shortcuts, I was at my house in five minutes. My mom was in the car, which would take a good ten or fifteen minutes extra because of the traffic. Perfect.

I kicked off my shoes, stripped to my underwear and ran to the radiator to find some clean and - hopefully - dry clothes. I switched from blue to black jeans and pulled on a white t-shirt. I left my converse lying in the living room and changed into a pair of high top trainers, quickly combed my blonde hair, flicked it out of my eyes and looked myself up and down in the mirror. I looked good and I knew it.

I took one last look around. The kitchen was a little messy, as usual. Clean, just disorganized, with the washed dishes still sitting on the sideboard and an assortment of foods like bread, crisps and various other snacks sitting on the worktop. The living room was similar - clean but disorganized. The cushions were strewn across the couch and various bits and bobs littered the coffee table. There were a couple of miscellaneous items dotted around on the floor, but otherwise it was tidy enough.

I grabbed my keys off the kitchen counter, made sure my fags and my phone were in my pocket, swiped a twenty from the money box and lifted the rucksack from the kitchen counter where I had left it earlier. There were two six packs of beer in it. It was heavy.

This all took five, maybe ten minutes. I had, at most, five minutes before my mom arrived.

As I was thinking that, I heard the front door open. "Ralph!" My mother screamed. I was surprised. It wasn't an angry scream. It was an upset scream. Still, not my problem. Well, actually it was my problem, but it was a problem that could wait until later. I slung the rucksack over one shoulder, quietly opened the back door and escaped into the neighboring gardens before my mom even saw me. She assumed I had gotten home and gotten out before her.

* * *

As soon as I walked through the front door, I was greeted with slaps on the back and offerings of beer. People telling me how at that stupid graduation I was "a real legend" or how I "totally powned him" Mr. Kennedy or some other stupid shit. I wished they would shut up. I hadn't done it to look like a legend, I had done it because I hated that school and that teacher and I wanted to show him one last time that I hated him and his school. I couldn't have cared less about what a lot of my classmates thought about it.

I was at some guy's party. Terry Peters' party. He was some thick idiot in my maths class. You know, the kind of person that laughs and brags about his embarrassingly low test scores as if it's something to be proud of. Idiot.

You see, I didn't like most of the people at my school. That's not to say I was unpopular. No, quite the opposite in fact - I found these empty headed drones trying to talk to me or sit beside me in classes, even though I had no desire to associate with the vast majority of them. I wasn't even particularly nice to most people, yet I was still popular, still invited to all these parties. I usually went to them, though - drink and fags and banter and maybe some action if I felt like it were never bad things, and I'd be best friends with the idiots by the time I was drunk anyway.

I decided quickly that I should have gotten drunk for turning up. The vast majority of the people here were drunk when I arrived, and they were annoying me. So I stood at the fringes of a little congregation of people in the living room while I chugged my beers, trying to get drunk enough to have fun as quickly as possible. By my sixth beer I was making small talk and having a bit of a laugh. A few beers later, I was actually having fun.

"Hey, Ralph," I heard my name being called as I pushed my way through the crowded living room. Actually, I really needed to piss, but talking for a minute wouldn't kill me, would it?

"Hey!" I greeted the other boy. His name was Zeph Taylor - he was actually a friend of mine. I didn't have many friends, mostly because I chose not to have many. I didn't like a lot of people, but I did have a few friends and he was one of them. Zeph was clever, but he lived for sports. I thought it was a waste. He could easily have become a doctor or a lawyer or something equally as important, but instead he was getting into uni based on a basketball scholarship.

"You want one of these?" He shouted over the music, holding his hand out to show me some white pills. They looked like paracetamol, but I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly what they were.

"Yeah, why not?" I replied. Being drunk, my inhibitions were lowered. Sober, I probably wouldn't have, but intoxicated? No contest. The stupid choice would almost always win when alcohol was involved.

I stumbled up the stairs to the bathroom. The ecstasy hadn't taken effect yet, but I'd had a lot to drink so I was obviously not top form. I pushed the door open and found someone lying face down on the floor. Some chubby guy with shaggy, black hair. I put my beer down and managed to haul the fat bastard out into the hall, then locked the door behind me and took a piss.

As I was washing my hands, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I felt like a wreck - I couldn't walk straight, felt like the world was tipping, was nearly falling over every two minutes, thought I was going to puke and had a dry, vile taste in my mouth. I looked great, though. I looked no different to the way I had when I left the house. I flicked my long hair out of my eyes and took a deep breath. I spoke to myself in my head, telling myself to get it together before I went back to the party. You know, the prep talk. It was cut short by someone banging on the door, at which I decided to leave and rejoin the party.

Making my way down the stairs was an even more perilous task than making my way up them, and there were people haphazardly strewn across said stairs, conveniently ignoring the fact that I could not levitate and did in fact have to place my feet on solid ground. I nearly flew headlong down the stairs a number of times, but I eventually reached the ground floor in one piece.

I bumped into some quiet guy in my English class that I had never spoken to before. Well, he had always been quiet in class. That was clearly not the case when he had a drink in him. We launched into conversation about books. I liked talking about books, only because I didn't get to do it often. Most people don't seem to read. Most people claim they don't like books, despite having read a grand total of about two in their lifetime. That's like someone saying they don't like movies after watching two of them. Totally senseless.

Still, by this time the pills were starting to take effect. Sounds and sights got better. I felt lighter. Not my usual narcissistic mindset. No, for a change, I felt like I loved everyone. Well, not loved. No, that's a bit strong for me. But I felt like I liked everyone in the house at any rate.

After that, things started to get real hazy. I remember the rest of the night as a jagged, uneven series of events, filled with loud noises and bright lights and harsh smells. Still, I felt wild and happy. Even if I felt like I was punishing my already frail body, I felt good, and feeling good was not a past time I enjoyed very often.

I remember jumping between two big guys that were at least twice my weight. They were shouting and screaming and their arms were flying everywhere - even in the state I was in, I could recognize that punches were about thirty seconds away. So, I stupidly jumped in between them, well aware that they could rip me in two, while a few others talked sense to them, calmed them down and led them away in opposite directions.

Lounging on the couch with a handful of people I didn't know, roaring with laughter and falling against them since I couldn't stay up straight, even sitting down. Just talking about whatever subjects came up, having a good time even if the current topic was something that I had absolutely no interest in.

Sitting on a wall in the back garden, finishing my last few beers and smoking a fag - I,of all people, should have been aware of the risks, but it was a habit I simply could not break. I was alone, but I was happy. When you're drunk and you're alone, you start thinking. You start to think you're some kind of a philosopher, then promptly forget everything that was in your head as soon as something else grabs your attention. I was a similar case.

My back against a wall in the empty hall as some girl I barely knew kissed me. I kissed back, my hands exploring her body. Her back, sides, chest, thighs. Then we were suddenly in a dark bedroom, making little use of the bed. We were both still standing up and kissing, but my hands were now sliding down her jeans while hers slid up my top, exploring.

I don't remember very much, but what I do remember was good. And it was my last hurrah, so to speak. It should have been good.


	2. I Took The Liberty

A Dance In The Dark

Chapter Two

I Took The Liberty

* * *

After being in and out and in and out and in and out of consciousness for an hour or so, I finally woke up properly and decided to find out what was going on.

The living room was in ruins. Fag ends and empty bottles littered the floor, along with stains of every shade of every color and random pieces of food everywhere. Random items of clothing were dotted around the room too, and in the corner was a broken chair, not too far from the curtains which now lay on the floor. A couple lay sprawled out on the other couch as well, and a couple of single people lay on the floor with covers. All were sleeping.

Also, I had stayed over at the house and was sharing a couch with the Girl From Last Night. She was still asleep. Her mouth was open and there was drool on the cushion that her head was resting on. I could smell the alcohol on her breath and the sweat from her body, but I wasn't a whole lot better. Hm, romantic.

I threw the covers to the ground and neglected to put them back over the catatonic Girl From Last Night when I got up. I did know her name, I just couldn't for the life of me recall it. Not that it mattered.

"Shit," I muttered when I got up. I was wearing only undershorts and socks and I had no clue where my clothes were. I glanced over at the Girl From Last Night and noted that she was wearing nothing more than a bra and pants. Classy. Nevertheless, I couldn't be bothered covering her up with the cover I had throw on the ground.

I rummaged through the clothes on the ground, looking for my jeans and t-shirt. While looking, I caught sight of my back in a mirror. It was covered in ugly gouges. Scratch marks. Girls and their fucking nails. Still, I eventually managed to find my jeans - since they were black, it didn't show that they were dirty. I also found my t-shirt, but it was a vile rag that was no longer even faintly reminiscent of white. I picked up some guy's shirt from the floor and buttoned that up instead. It was navy, so the dirt didn't really show up on that either. I didn't look clean, but I didn't look as dirty as I actually was either, so I was good.

I made my way quietly into the kitchen and scrunched my eyes shut as I entered. It was much brighter in here, and the light hurt my head and eyes. It was so much brighter in here. It was only when said light bothered me that I realized just how bad I was feeling. Not the worst hangover I'd ever had, but it was hardly enjoyable.

I grabbed my trainers at the back door - I sure as hell wasn't leaving them, they had been expensive and I liked them - and tried the door handle. It was locked, and I couldn't be bothered looking for a key, so I opened up the window further and clambered through that instead, landing on my feet on the grass below. I was good at landing on my feet. I was useless at most sports, but I had always been agile.

I had taken note of the time on the living room clock before I left. It was roughly ten in the morning, and I had apparently been the first to wake up in the house. It was Sunday, so Oscar's was shut. Fucking Oscar. Prick.

I lit up and had a fag as I walked. I really shouldn't have. It's dangerous for most people, but for me? I really was tempting fate, and my body was frail enough anyway. Still, I liked it. I found it relaxed me, and I found that I didn't want to stop. It wasn't that I lacked the willpower - if I wanted to stop, I guess I could, I had done harder things in the past - it was that I simply did not want to give up smoking. Despite the negative effects it had on my body and wallet.

So roughly fifteen minutes later, I was stood about twenty feet from Oscar's. Oscar's was a breeding facility. More specifically, the breeding facility that I worked at. The hours and pay were shit, and so was the way that Oscar treated his employees, but hey, I got to work with some pretty cool Pokemon.

It was a big grey block of a building, with acres and acres of land outside it where the Pokemon roamed when the facility was open. They were held in by a big dome of electrified wire - electric fences wouldn't suffice because some Pokemon could fly. Still, there were no Pokemon outside today. Oscar's was closed, and they were safely tucked away inside, in their pokeballs.

It was too out of the way for any normal person to witness, and Oscar himself would still be asleep. Honestly, that man would happily put his livelihood at risk just so that he could have a couple of hours extra sleep.

I walked up to the main gates. The whole building was surrounded by a high, electric chain link fence with barbed wire atop it, and the gates were similar. I walked around the fence for maybe twenty feet before I came to what I was looking for. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled under the fence using a ditch that an escapee Drilbur had dug a few months ago. I had to keep real low to the ground, scraping my chest and stomach on jutting rocks and arching my back uncomfortably to avoid touching the electric fence. Eventually, though, I made it in, and the dirt didn't really show up too clearly on the stolen shirt.

I walked back around to the front of the building and fished my keys out of my pocket. I had my front and back house keys, locker key for school, a key for the storeroom in school - which I had admittedly stolen, and the master key for Oscar's - which I had also stolen without Oscar noticing. I inserted the key and felt a surge of smug triumph as the lock clicked.

The breeding facility was really just a lot of grey concrete inside. Pretty much designed to withstand any escaped Pokemon rampages - and I must admit, the building had taken a few beatings from big, powerful Pokemon in my time here. Still, it was boring. It just made the place seem dead. Colorless. I didn't like it.

Still, I knew every inch of the building - I had worked here for six months. I picked up my bag from the changing rooms on the ground floor and then made my way to the top floor, unlocking the necessary doors as I went along. The rooms on the top floor all had different signs on them. Stock. Offspring. Advertising. Maintenance. Discipline. That was the one I was looking for. Discipline.

I unlocked and opened this door and walked into another room. It wasn't a big room, but all four walls were lined with pokeballs - and even though the room wasn't big, that was still a lot of Pokemon. They were all arranged alphabetically by species. Oscar could have arranged them by national number, but most people didn't know those off by heart. I did, but most people didn't.

"Where are you...?" I said to myself, browsing the 'C' section. Finally, I found the right one. It was an ultra ball, with two labels on the front top half of it, one above the other. One showed his species, the other printed his name in neat, black lettering: Gruen.

I stuffed the pokeball in my bag and left, locking the door behind me. I made my way down the stairs and stopped at the second floor. I navigated my way through the labyrinthine corridors and unlocked the storeroom. I grabbed a handful of various kinds of pokeballs - God knows, they're hard to get if you're not a breeder - and some miscellaneous medical supplies. Oscar made a small fortune and had more shit than he knew what to do with. I doubt he'd even notice anything was gone.

In my bag - bearing in mind this was a huge bag - I also had a collapsible tent, a sleeping bag, torch, food, water, rope and some other bits and pieces. It felt heavy on my back, but I liked it. It made me feel like a real trainer, which was ridiculous considering I had never even spent a night outside.

I left the facility, and was about to head back to the fence, but I heard noise. Shit. That sounded like a lorry. I peeked around the corner and my suspicions were confirmed - it was a big ass lorry.

A handful of guys were unloading crates onto the ground, lining them up neatly against the wall. Anyone could just come in and steal as much shit as they wanted if they could make it over the fence. Oscar was truly the least intelligent human being I had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

So, I waited until the men had unloaded all the crates they had to and then watched them drive off. One leaned out the window and swiped some kind of access card at the machine at the gates. The gates rattled open, let the vehicle through then shut again.

I was about to make my way over to the ditch so that I could get back out, but something distracted me. A blue and white object lying maybe ten feet from the crates. I changed direction and jogged over there instead.

It was a great ball. Not only that, it had a sticky label on the top half of the ball, with the number '92' printed on it. That would mean nothing to most people, but I knew each and every Pokemon in the world by their national number, and I was sure as hell not going to pass this one up. I had originally intended to just check it out, but I stuffed it in my bag instead.

So, I made my way back to the fence. I threw my bag over the fence and then wriggled under the fence using the ditch again, picked up my bag and set off.

From Violet, I had three options. I could head west and make my way through route thirty-six, then onto thrty-seven and Ecruteak, but that was a notoriously difficult route for beginners. Some of the natives were actually pretty dangerous, but at least the terrain was okay.

I could also go south and head down route thirty-two. The wild Pokemon there weren't harmless, but nor were they really dangerous. Either way, they were doable. Still, it was a route renowned for how unforgiving it is to trainers. It's quite a difficult place to survive in.

Going east and through route thirty-one was also an option, but it wasn't one I found particularly appealing. Aside from the occasional Bellsprout, the wild Pokemon there were harmless. It wasn't even considered a difficult camping site. Not only that, but government rarely came through, and undesirables were equally as rare.

Option one was pretty much suicide. Option two wasn't quite that bad, but it wasn't the clever choice. Option three was too easy an option. Then again, it sounds easy in theory, but it would be my first ever route. I figured it would probably end up being worse than I thought it would be, so why not play it safe?

I started heading east.


	3. Misery Business

A Dance In The Dark

Chapter Three

Misery Business

* * *

Author's Note : Just to say that I'm making an update schedule for both this and The Correctional Facility. Aim is to update every Wednesday, although this is my priority so if either fic suffers it'll be The Correctional Facility.

* * *

"It's probably nothing major," my mom reassured me. Fourteen year old me wasn't convinced.

"They said something's wrong. Like, badly wrong," I pointed out. I pressed the button and we waited for the green light to show before we crossed the road.

"It's probably just your appendix or something," she waved off my concern. Actually, I could see that she was scared, but she was trying not to show it. I kept my observation to myself.

"I know where my appendix is, mom, and that's not where the pain is," I told her as we walked towards the doctor's. She was quiet for the rest of the walk.

The waiting room was all white and clinical and actually quite unnerving. My mom had a quick word with the receptionist before we sat down. We waited and waited and waited in silence, until a doctor came through to the waiting room and beckoned us into the corridor he had just emerged from. We followed him down the hall, past door after door until we came to one labelled 'Cardel' - that was my doctor's name.

"Have a seat," he told my mother and I, sitting down behind his own desk. My mom made to take the chair directly across from doctor Cardel, but I sat down in it first. She could take the seat that was further back to my left. This was about me, and I was the one in charge. That was one thing that my mom never seemed to understand. She thought that no matter the situation, she knew best and that she was in charge.

She looked at me expectantly and I stared back defiantly. Once she realized that I wasn't moving, she sat down in the other chair rather than making a scene.

"Ralph," doctor Cardel started, straightening his pale blue tie and fixing his starched white shirt. "There's not really an easy way to put this." That's what I liked about doctor Cardel. He didn't piss about, he'd just tell you something straight, which is what he did. "You have cancer."

That hit me like a half brick in a sock. I was expecting bad, but not quite that bad. Not quite you're-probably-going-to-die bad. I sat there, breathing a little heavier than usual for a good minute before my mom decided to say something, and that spurred me into action.

"So, what -" she started but I interrupted her. This was about me. I didn't even want her here now that I thought about it. She shot me a glare that I ignored. I'd just found out I had cancer. Little else caused me concern.

"Go on," I prompted the doctor, purely for the purpose of interrupting my mom.

"It's the cancer of plasma cells in the blood and it's incurable," he stated. The half brick in the sock hit me in the gut again. "It's highly treatable, though," he went on.

"How long do I have until I die?" I asked him before he could say anything else. He ignored the fact that my voice cracked.

"With the kind of treatment you'll have access to, probably around three or four years," he told me bluntly.

Oh my fucking God. I was going to die. I was going to die, probably before I even got out of my teens.

"It starts with an chemotherapy -" Cardel started, but I cut him off.

"No."

"What?" He looked puzzled.

"I'm not doing chemo. No way," I told him, tears starting to fill my eyes. I knew one guy that had went through chemo. He was a friend of a friend, and he had leukemia. The chemo had turned him into a shell of the guy he once was, and I did not want that to happen to me. No, I'd rather live less.

"Well after chemo anyway, there's surgery. Stem cell transplants," he went on, looking at me with pity. I hated that. I gave a weak nod as the first tear rolled down my cheek.

* * *

I walked all day. There's really not much else to it. I didn't marvel at the beauty of the outside world or anything. No, I trudged through the marshy route in the drizzle - I had maybe picked a bad day to start traveling - and hid under the shelter of the twisted, miserable trees whenever I found them.

The wild Ratatta and Pidgey would run or fly from me most of the time. Occasionally, one would attack me, but I'd just kick it into the middle of next week. It wasn't hard.

The terrain was terrible - and this was considered mild compared to other routes. I swear to God, I skidded or stumbled or fell in the mud every few feet. I was soaked and covered in mud. I was covered in little bites from the tiny little Caterpie that inhabited the route, and there was even a Weedle sting too, which was considerably worse. Stronger Weedle could kill with a sting, but these were too weak to do any real damage. Same with the Caterpie really.

At nightfall, I stopped. I set up my tent - I expected this to an unrealistically difficult task, but the box hadn't lied when it said it could be assembled in ten minutes. I could camp here for the night, train a little, train all of the following day then complete my walk to Cherrygrove. I could just pass by it and go on towards New Bark, or I could pretend I wasn't a trainer - risky, but I figured I could pull it off - and stay in Cherrygrove for the night. Still, I could decide nearer the time, I was too miserable to do so at present.

I crawled into the tent, opened my bag and changed into a new set of clothes - I couldn't bear to sit in soaked, muddy clothes any longer. Just a pair of combat pants and a white t-shirt - I owned a lot of those. My trainers were dirty, but far from ruined. They were tough. My jeans and stolen shirt, though? I chucked them out into the rain. They were beyond repair.

This was shit. Honestly. Just shit.

I produced a roll from inside my bag and started eating. I didn't even pay attention to the contents of the roll - it could have been cheese, but it could just as easily have been ham. I honestly had no clue, I wasn't paying attention. I finished it, took out a book and started reading it. I wasn't paying attention to the time, but I read roughly a hundred pages, so that was probably between an hour and an hour and a half considering the pace that I usually read at.

I only stopped because I noticed that the rain had stopped. I could no longer hear the pitter patter of rain drops on the tent, so I put the book away, put my shoes back on and stepped outside with Gruen's pokeball clutched in my right hand.

I hurled it at the ground and only just managed to catch it when it bounced back up - I had read that using a pokeball was an actual skill, and one that most beginning trainers couldn't do.

Gruen formed in a flash of light. He was a large, flightless bird with short tail, a yellow upper body and an orange lower body. He had a short, wide, sturdy beak and a crest of orange feathers on the top of his head. He had disproportionately long, slender arms with three huge, very slightly curved claws at the end of his arms with no visible fingers. He had thick, muscular thighs underneath his orange feathers, and thin, but strong lower legs covered in grey scales. His grey, scaly feet had four long toes and short but strong and curved claws at the end of them.

I threw him a piece of bread that I had saved from my roll. He caught it in his short, wide beak and let out a series of rapid, happy clucks after he swallowed the food.

Gruen was my favorite individual Pokemon in the world. Back at the facility, I had worked with him whenever I possibly could - which was usually a couple of times a week. He was a disciplinary Pokemon - used for breaking, punishing or just manhandling unruly Pokemon. Back at the facility, I had developed a bond with Gruen, so it wasn't like he was a new Pokemon or anything really. More like he was getting a change of job, and I was sure he would appreciate it.

I had picked Gruen over other Pokemon for a number of reasons. First of all, we had a good relationship already, and I figured that'd make him easier to train. Then there was the fact that Gruen actually placed a great deal of importance on strength. Back at the facility, he trained constantly, and it paid off. I had watched him overpower much larger or stronger or more experienced Pokemon with a combination of his practiced, rehearsed skill and his natural knack for combat. He was determined, he was motivated and he was almost fearless.

Combusken are birds, but they can't fly. They don't need to fly. They can breathe remarkably hot fire and usually punch well above their weight in physical altercations. They're highly resilient to physical fatigue due to the lifestyle they lead and are generally considered to be intelligent, reliable Pokemon. Their claws - although they rarely use them - are capable of carving up and bloodying even the toughest of opponents, and their strikes can shatter bones if they're trained correctly.

Gruen jumped over to me, clearing the six feet in a single, effortless little hop. "Hey boy," I greeted the chicken, running my hand through his feather crest and scratching his head. He let out another couple of happy clucks then turned to look at his surroundings. His eyes narrowed when he realized that he didn't recognize them.

He was on Guard straight away. His feet were planted far apart, giving him a wide base of support were he to fight. His arms were bent at almost right angles and held out from his body a little, claws at the ready. He wouldn't use his claws in competition, but if he had to use them to defend himself in a life or death situation, then he sure as hell would.

"Fire," I said to Gruen calmly, pointing towards a patch of tall grass. It was about the only word he knew. Oscar had always referred to him as a 'breaker' and as a breaker, he didn't really need to know commands. He knew how to handle himself in a fight without any instruction from a trainer. All he needed to know was what Pokemon he was supposed to target.

He breathed a little cloud of fire - an ember attack - over the patch of tall grass, flushing out all the creatures hiding there. Pidgey and Ratatta were everywhere, as well as a few Bellsprout, Buizel and various others that posed little to no threat to Gruen.

Gruen needed training. He didn't need to train in order to become strong, though. No, he needed to be trained in order to be taught commands. He knew basically no voice commands, although he did understand a fair deal of hand signals that I had taught him back at Oscar's. Just things to make work easier, like pointing to a target or drawing a finger across my throat for the order to kill -which, although it was hardly ever used, was useful to have.

Then there was the matter of the other stolen Pokemon. I assumed it was young, weak, and although I could have been wrong, I very much doubted it. It would need training from scratch - commands and signals, attacks, fitness, focus and everything.

I figured it was time to get started.


	4. The First Hurdle

A Dance In The Dark

Chapter Four

The First Hurdle

* * *

The thing that floated in front of me was truly grotesque. It was a transparent, black skull. It was about the width of a regular head, but it was at least two feet long, making it look narrow and stretched. Most of the skull's length was made up of its lower jaw, which looked like it had been unhinged, like a snake's. It's mouth was filled with narrow, needle like teeth and had a long, pointed, purple tongue. The eyes, just plain white orbs with no pupils, looked sunken in its sockets. The whole thing was surrounded by a thick, vile, purple mist that trailed behind it when it moved.

The creature just looked ethereal.

Gruen stood by my side, claws twitching in anticipation, muscles tensed, occasionally producing little flame when he breathed out. Gruen was ready to protect me. He was more than experienced at dealing with unruly Pokemon of pretty much any kind.

Now, a little on ghost types. Statistically speaking, out of the seventeen types, the ghost type is the most likely to murder you. They're notorious for being clever, stealthy and murderous. They're able to kill a human pretty much effortlessly. The reason being that humans are, technically speaking, of the fighting type. A human can't hit a ghost and can't harm one at all with their fists, so the ghost will always win. Ghosts are not generally recommended for beginners.

So, yeah, I made sure I had Gruen out. His fire could put this ghost down in seconds.

It eyed us with its white orbs, its veil of purple gas being the only part of it that was moving.

"Right..." I exhaled. I was talking to myself, not to either of my Pokemon. I hurled the stone in my hand at a patch of tall grass, successfully flushing out a frightened Pidgey.

The Gastly moved faster than I thought it would. It just seemed to zoom the short distance to the bird, leaving a trail of purple mist in its wake. As it moved past the bird, it struck with its whip like tongue, lashing out at the bird's neck. The strike actually cut the bird's throat wide open and sent it falling to the ground, flapping wildly while blood flew everywhere, staining the ground beneath it red.

Then the Gastly looked at me. I felt an overwhelming urge to hurt things. To maim them, kill them. Anything, everything was a potential target for my hatred and rage. It consumed me, so that I couldn't think of anything else. This wasn't my emotion, though. No, this was my Gastly's emotion. The only reason I knew was because of my extensive knowledge of Pokemon, otherwise I'd have probably thought I was going insane.

It's called synchronization. Ghost Pokemon have the ability to show other creatures what they're feeling, and that was their means of doing so - forcing others to feel the emotion that they're feeling like it's their own. It allowed for an exceptionally strong bond between trainer and Pokemon, but it was a difficult thing to control, much like telepathy with psychics. It did, however, become easier to control with practice.

The sensation lasted only a handful of seconds, but it felt like longer. It's significance outweighed its duration. I shivered.

Still, training the Gastly was easy. The burning hatred and murderous rage that it experienced - along with myself for that brief handful of seconds - meant that it didn't need any encouragement to pick fights with the locals. It just floated about, punishing them with its whip like tongue and being met with minimal resistance. I had to keep an eye on it to make sure it didn't float away or turn on me, but otherwise I had to do next to nothing.

I watched as he battled a Bellsprout. Although frail looking, they're the only Pokemon in the area considered in any way dangerous. It had a yellow, bulb like head with a large, round opening that acted as a mouth and a pair of barely noticeable ocelli - or 'eye spots', a type of simple, primitive eye. Its body was essentially a thick, strong stem, while its legs were made of more slender, but still strong roots. It sported a pair of long, narrow, prehensile leaves which acted as the creature's arms. It also sprouted a vine from its mouth, reminiscent of a tongue, and started dueling my Gastly, who retaliated with his own tongue. The two lashed out at each other with their whips, dodging and striking and dodging and striking until the unfortunate Bellsprout fell prey to a throat strike, like the Pidgey before it. It bled sap onto the ground and died as my Gastly struck it's still body. It even hit it a few times after it was dead.

Meanwhile, Gruen simply punted a Ratatta into a nearby body of water.

Gruen was a different matter. Gruen needed taught commands. Move wise, he knew scratch, growl, peck, ember and double kick. He got the ember command down pretty quickly since he already knew what fire meant. He learned the command for double kick too, after hours of repetition and pathetic examples on my part. Still, at least he learned it. Peck didn't go nearly as well. He didn't use the attack very often, and he simply didn't grasp the concept anyway. Scratch was beyond hope. In his eyes, his claws were for life or death situations only, not for competition and not for practicing on weaker foes. I'm not sure if he didn't grasp the concept or just point blank refused to learn it. Probably a bit of both. I didn't even bother trying to teach him growl. It was pretty much useless and I had more important things to try to teach him anyway.

By this point, it was late night. Like, really late into the night - or maybe even early morning - so I returned the Gastly and retired to my tent for the night, Gruen following behind me. I didn't trust the Gastly not to escape or kill me in my sleep. I trusted Gruen, though. He could stay out.

So, I removed my shoes and climbed into my sleeping bag, still wearing my combats and top while Gruen curled up in a corner and the two of us promptly fell asleep.

* * *

"Nestor!" I called. The Gastly didn't turn. Damn. I was trying to teach him his name, but it obviously wasn't going too well.

Gruen walked by side, a spring still in his step after four hours straight of walking. I was about to collapse and just didn't know how he did it.

"Go!" I barked, spotting a Buizel's head poking out of the tall grass. Gruen was over first and hit out with a double kick attack. He spun twice, lashing out with a kick during each rotation. The first one caught the water weasel straight in the face, the second one caught it in the stomach, sending it flying back.

Before Gruen could finish it, however, Nestor came out of nowhere and struck the unfortunate creature with his tongue. It struck the back of its head and split the skin, injuring it but not killing it. He followed up with a second strike, this time to the throat. That killed it.

Gruen seemed disappointed, standing over the dead body of the weasel. More importantly, though, he gave Nestor a disdainful, disgusted look. Animosity between Pokemon of different natures was bound to happen in any team, though. It didn't shock me greatly and it didn't worry me greatly. I had been prepared for it and it's not like they were actually fighting, so it was fine, at least for now.

The two had been racing to claim fights as their own for hours, but that had been the first time one had stolen an opponent from the other. Every other time a wild Pokemon appeared, the first one to reach it would get to battle. It was hard to tell who had the greater thirst for battle.

Still, they were both coming along well. No more progress for Gruen as far as commands went, but he was still training hard, still pushing himself to see just how quickly he could take out his admittedly far weaker opponents. Nestor, though, had learned the command for lick - although it was impossible to tell whether he was listening to me or not because lick was the only move he would use in a fight anyway. And his name was, evidently, still a work in progress.

I needed food and rest, so I stopped a few minutes later. Gruen stopped right by my side, but Nestor just kept floating on.

"Hey!" I called. The ghost didn't turn. "Nestor!" I tried again. Still no response. "Back here, now!" I screamed at him. The ghost turned to face me with his plain white eyes narrowed. His jaw stretched open even further - not like he opened it further, more like his face stretched and got longer. He gave out a harsh hiss that traveled the distance between us easily. I wasn't sure if it was a threat, a challenge, a complaint or something else entirely, so I returned him.

The grass was damp, but not soaking, so I sat down with my legs crossed and opened my bag. Gruen sat down a few feet across from me, legs straight out. I took out a can of ground meat, opened it with the ring pull and tossed it to Gruen, who gleefully scooped the contents out of the can and into his mouth with his long claws.

For myself, I produced and unwrapped a roll. It was crushed and barely recognizable, but it still tasted just as good so I crammed it in my mouth and finished it in the space of ten seconds - which was still about five times as long as it took Gruen to finish his own meal.

I'd eaten two rolls in the space of two days so far. I really needed to teach Gruen of Nestor how to hunt. Not that I'd be much of a teacher.

So, after eating with Gruen and resting for a little while, I was going to press on towards Cherrygrove but then remembered that Nestor was still in his ball. I released him right next to me, forgetting that he was pissed at me for stopping or returning him or whatever it was he had hissed at me for. Big mistake.

There was a flash of light as the pokeball burst open and a piercing, inhuman shriek that could shatter glass as Nestor was set free. I got a fright and took a step back, missing the pokeball on its bounce back up. There was suddenly an oversized, unrealistic face with blank, narrowed eyes screaming at me, tongue whipping wildly, teeth inches from my face. Before I even knew what was really happening, Nestor was behind me with his tongue wrapped around my throat.

I reached for the tongue with both hands to pry it from my throat, but my hands passed harmlessly through it. I couldn't even claw at the thing that was choking me. I couldn't breathe. I had no oxygen coming into my lungs, but that was not at the front of my mind. The thing that was at the front of my mind was the pain in my neck. Strangling really hurts.

My pocket, I thought. I may have been panicking and in pain, but I was no idiot. I reached my right hand into my pocket and retrieved my lighter. I sparked it with my thumb and a little flame popped up. Through my wheezing and the darkening of my vision, I managed to lift the little contraption to my neck and the tongue that was wrapped around it. I only had to hold it there for two or three seconds before Nestor let go, but two or three seconds is a long time for a choking person. I didn't think I'd be able to hold on that long, but I did and he flew back from me, screaming, his burnt tongue flailing everywhere.

I fell onto my side and dropped my lighter and my hands went straight to my throat and tears were running down my face and I couldn't stop coughing and I had burnt my thumb on my lighter and I could finally breathe again and it was like I had forgotten how to do it properly and I was only vaguely aware of Gruen half killing Nestor with more fire.


	5. Are You Clever Enough?

A Dance In The Dark

Chapter Five

Are You Clever Enough?

* * *

Nestor's attack held us back a bit, so we ended up reaching Cherrygrove the following morning. I had two choices: I could either skirt around the city or stay there for the night and pretend I wasn't a trainer. I was dirty and tired and sore, so I made my decision.

Fifteen minutes or so from actually reaching the city, I crouched down at the base of a tree, dug a deep enough hole in the soil and hid my bag in it before filling the hole in again. Without any pokeballs or camping equipment or anything, no one could accuse me of being a trainer.

So, I wandered around the city, lost, trying to find a hotel or something to stay at for the night - I had removed what little money I had from my bag before I had buried it.

I wandered the streets of Cherrygrove for maybe half an hour before I spotted a hotel. It was small and cheap looking - not that my wallet was complaining.

While walking aside some of the taller buildings, I felt the fabric of my t-shirt constrict, pulled tight suddenly and felt myself jerked to the left. Before I knew what was going on and before the few people on the street could notice what was going on, I was dragged into an alley. I was slammed hard against the wall but I kept enough control of my body to tense my neck to make sure the back of my head didn't hit the bricks. I pressed one foot to the wall, grabbed my assailant's collar with both hands and pushed with all my might. I managed to shift him maybe a foot but was then promptly shoved back against the wall and punched in the stomach.

"You fucking idiot," my attacker's voice came, hissing at me. I was too preoccupied clutching my stomach. The irrational part of my brain was screaming that it hurt so much that he must have stabbed me or something, but the logical part of my brain won out. I was a logical kind of guy.

"What...?" I muttered weakly. I took the time to look up at the stranger. He was tall, with a wiry, lithe frame. Our altercation just now had shown me that he was far stronger than he looked, though. He was maybe a couple of years older than myself, with a shock of dark hair, a trendy sweater, a pair of chinos and a pair of plimsolls. He looked like a student or something.

"Useless," he growled, patting down my pockets. I was so confused. He grabbed my collar, hauled me up straight and pulled the neckline of my t-shirt down to reveal my bare chest. I had no idea what was happening anymore.

"Look, I -" I started, but he cut me off.

"Go get some more supplies," he practically ordered me. "Food, water, whatever you need, then get back out of this city," he went on. Wait, what?

"I've got no clue what you're talking about!" I screamed, frustrated. Would it honestly kill people to explain things?

"I know you're a trainer," he elaborated. Oh. "Probably started no more than a few weeks ago and you've got no idea how things work," he went on. "It's plainly obvious that you're a trainer. You're filthy and just in out of the wild. If you want to pass as normal in a town or city, you need to look the part. Hiding your pokeballs isn't enough. Make sure you're clean and dress like a normal person in future."

"So you're a trainer?" I asked tentatively.

"Well fucking done," he practically spat. I had a feeling I had run into this guy on the wrong day. I was about to give a dry reply, but he started talking again first. "Head to New Bark. There's a place in New Bark you can stay," he told me, then turned and started to walk away.

"Whereabouts?" I called after him. A town was a big place and I had no idea what this place even was.

"If you're not smart enough to find it then you're not smart enough to be a trainer," he called back dismissively. "And get yourself a sign," he added, turning around and gesturing to his chest before he left me. I didn't even bother asking him what a sign was. If I wasn't smart enough to get it myself then apparently I wasn't good enough to be a trainer.

* * *

I used up the last of my money on food, water, some other miscellaneous supplies and some clean clothes that I could wear if the occasion called for it. I then returned to the tree and dug up my bag. I packed my new supplies into it and then removed both a can of deodorant and Nestor's pokeball.

I bounced it once and caught it on its way back up. Before the Gastly could fully form, I took a few steps back to put some distance between us. This was the first time he had been let out of his pokeball since he had attacked me. I was ready this time.

He came at me again, all blank eyes and needle teeth and whip tongue, so I raised the can of deodorant and sprayed it right into his face. He gave a hiss and halted in his tracks, coughing and hacking and screwing his eyes shut tight. Physical force would do nothing to a ghost, but there are other ways to hurt them. They really don't like aerosols.

I took some more steps back and stared at him, long and hard.

Then he came at me once more. This time, I pulled out my lighter, flicked a little flame up and sprayed the deodorant at it. The flamethrower repelled Nestor far quicker than the aerosol alone had. He was now much closer to the ground and screaming, his tongue lashing everywhere and his eyes rolling behind his shut lids.

I released Gruen and we started walking, skirting around Cherrygrove city. I made sure I kept both my lighter and deodorant on me in case Nestor had another volatile moment and attacked - not that Gruen alone wasn't enough, just better to be safe than sorry.

So he continued to take his anger out on the natives instead, worse even than he had the day before. He flayed the skin right off some of them and choked others to death, leaving a trail of blood as he went along. It just made me wonder what he'd be able to do as a Haunter or even a Gengar. As it stood, he was a floating head. With the addition of arms and legs, I figured the ghost would just be a weapon.

Gruen, obviously, was much tamer. He took out his opponents with his kicks. Usually with a knock out kick to the face or head, but more rarely he would target the gut or ribs and put them in too much pain to retaliate. His preference seemed to be knock out kicks, though - gut or rib shots seemed to be reserved for the slightly more skilled denizens of the route.

It goes without saying that I preferred Gruen. Aside from the fact that he was overall a more obedient and less aggressive Pokemon, you could always count on him to be the same way as well. This was not the case with Nestor.

So, Gruen, Nestor and I marched, floated and stumbled along, respectively. Night was approaching and I was tired, cold, hungry and thirsty. I stopped, set up my tent and then set up a little stove that I had bought in Cherrygrove outside it. I picked up the remains of a Pidgey that Nestor had flayed to death, removed the feather, removed the organs, vomited on the grass and then started cooking with a fire that Gruen lit for me.

As I was sitting there watching the bird cook, mouth watering, I spotted Nestor off to the side. He was bullying a little humanoid Pokemon. It had bright red lips, a purple face and a primarily black body with a white zig zag running through the middle of it. It had tufts of black and white hair on its head, the white ones elaborately tied up in the shape of bows. Apart from the color and the hair, it looked exactly like a human child. It made me feel sick. It made me feel sicker when Nestor attacked it. He strangled it with his tongue for a while as it wheezed and cried and grasped uselessly at his insubstantial tongue. A dark aura then emanated from him, fast and sudden and violent. It was a circle, although the edges flickered and produced tendrils of darkness. The circle had a radius of about five feet, with Nestor right at the center of it. When the aura faded, the Gothita was lying on the ground, not breathing.

I noticed two things.

First of all, we had just arrived in route twenty-nine and we had encountered a Gothita. In the old days, back when training was legal, Gothita couldn't be found here. Back in the old days there had been strict rules about where you could release your Pokemon. You could only do it in a place where that Pokemon's evolutionary family were native to. Otherwise, it could upset the ecosystem since the introduction of one species could easily lead to the loss of another. For leaving your Pokemon in an inappropriate place, you could face having your trainer's license revoked, so no one did it. It simply wasn't worth the risk. But since training became illegal, people started just releasing Pokemon wherever they pleased. Trainers were already on the run from the government, so what was another minor offence? So, the result was that Pokemon never before seen in Johto had started to pop up in places they shouldn't, like Gothita in route twenty-nine.

Secondly, I was certain that Nestor had just used night shade. Absolutely certain.

"Nestor!" I bellowed. He turned to face me slowly, apparently having learned his name. "Night shade!" That was the first time I had ever seen him use the move. I figured he was clever enough to make the connection between new words and a new attack. "Night shade," I repeated, quieter, but still audible, holding up a sizable piece of cooked Pidgey meat. His eyes flickered around for a while before he found another target - a Hoppip - and put it down with the dark aura.

He floated over to where I was sitting and was soon no less than two feet from me. Gruen was away training, so it was just the two of us. Not going to lie, I was scared. It was the closest he had ever been to me without attacking me. He didn't look like he planned on making another attempt on my life, but I had been wrong about things before - although it was admittedly quite a rare occurrence. I tossed the meat to him and he caught it in his long, disproportionately large mouth.

Ghosts don't need physical sustenance, but they do enjoy it. Unfortunately for Nestor, however, he lacked both the knowledge and physical appendages to prepare meat. Of course he could just swallow his kills whole, but there was little taste in that, and ghosts eat out of pleasure, not necessity.

I retired to my tent soon after. Nestor went back in his ball and Gruen curled up in the corner and was asleep almost immediately.

I was still filthy, still tired and still hungry - despite the portion of Pidgey meat - but I was enjoying it. There was something satisfying about living without luxury, knowing that I was going on an adventure. It sounded childish, but at the end of the day, that's what it was. Just one big, dangerous, illegal adventure.


	6. There's Nothing Much To Me

A Dance In The Dark

Chapter Six

There's Nothing Much To Me

* * *

"Ha! He's crying!" Eric jeered, hands on his knees, laughing hysterically. I was on my hands and knees on the tiled floor, coughing and, yes, crying. The pain had only recently subsided to such a point that I didn't have to clutch my stomach with both hands anymore.

For thirteen year old me, this kind of treatment would become a regular occurrence. This, however, was the first time.

Eric wasn't particularly big. Eric wasn't particularly strong. Eric wasn't particularly good at fighting. Eric, though, was good looking, confident, popular and nasty. While a couple of his friends held me back, he had kicked me in the stomach twice. It had hurt, a lot, and it had sent me to the floor. One on one, I could arguably beat him in a fight, but I was a mild mannered kid. I didn't have the confidence to win a battle of wits at this age and I wouldn't have hit him first either - although he always went about in a crowd of his asshole pals, making a fair fight impossible anyway.

There was a wet noise and something wet landed on the back of my head, in my hair. It didn't take someone clever to work out that it was saliva.

"Wanker!" Eric called in a song-song voice as they walked away, laughing. They left the P.E changing rooms and left me just sitting there, feeling about three inches tall. It was just this feeling of helplessness, and it was horrible. I didn't know what to do.

I didn't even really know why he had decided to pick on me. At first it was just jeering and name calling. It hurt, but I ignored it and got changed for P.E. When we were the last people left - Eric, his mates and myself - it turned physical. There were four of them. I stood no chance. Three grabbed me from behind, one grabbing each arm and one wrapping an arm around my throat. My arm was restrained, but I struggled and threw a careless elbow back, bursting someone's nose. He let go of my arm and fell away from me, cursing. I thought I maybe had a chance, but then Eric swooped in with his kicks which pretty much finished me.

As I said before, this was the first such occurrence, but it was certainly not the last. No, not by any means.

* * *

I reached New Bark a few days later. This time, I didn't bury my bag. No, I was going to try and find this place that sheltered trainers, and I was going to take my stuff with me. I did, however, change into the normal clothes that I bought back at Cherrygrove. Another white t-shirt - although this was a clean one - and a pair of black jeans. I had washed myself in a pond the previous day as well, so I was clean enough to pass for normal.

The town was quiet. If there had been people crowding the streets and rushing every direction, I'd probably have been scared of getting caught, but I only really saw the occasional old person. I figured I was fine, no one would know I was a trainer.

However, I was faced with another problem. How the hell was I supposed to find anywhere that would take in trainers? Well, it actually wasn't all that difficult. All I had to do was go to the place in the town that most trainers would be attracted to, then go from there. I figured the Elm Lab was the trainer hotspot in town.

Back in the old days, it had just been a big brick of a building. Just one big plain cuboid. Over the years, though, more and more extensions had been added to it - dormitories, storage rooms, cells, extra research rooms and even greenhouses. It was now a sprawling mass of little add on rooms extending form the big box in the middle. I walked in, strode up to reception and asked to speak to who was in charge. They asked me to sit on one of the chairs at the side and told me someone would be down in a few minutes.

Doctor Lorri Kilbride was, fist of all, stunning. She had long waves of dirty blonde hair and tanned, clear skin. She didn't look like she was wearing any make up - although her lips were remarkably dark anyway. She wasn't skinny, but she was slim, with slight, but noticeable curves, even underneath her lab coat.

Also, she looked not a whole lot older than me. Maybe sixteen or seventeen.

"You're in charge?" I asked skeptically. She looked mildly insulted, yet mildly amused.

"Yes," she replied. "Problem?"

"None," I said. "Can you tell me what a sign is?" I asked her, pensive. It was a safe question. If she knew anything about this shelter for trainers, then she'd know what I was talking, although I, admittedly, did not - it was just one of the things the trainer in Cherrygrove had said to me. If, however, the scientist was oblivious to the secret refuge for trainers, then she wouldn't know what I was talking about and I still wouldn't have given anything away.

A flash of comprehension crossed her face for just the briefest of moments. Most people would probably have missed it, but I always made sure I paid attention to things.

"Follow me," she said, turning on her heel and walking briskly away. Despite her age, she had the demeanor of someone older.

She led me away to a flight of stairs leading into basement floor one. There was a steel door in front of us that looked like it could hold back the apocalypse if need be. There wasn't even a lock. The only way to open it seemed to be the fingerprint scanner next to the door. Lorri pressed her index finger to it and held it there for a handful of seconds, after which the door slid open.

"Enjoy your stay," she smiled, then turned and ascended the stairs again. I slipped through the door as it began to close again.

I arrived in a large reception that looked a little like the Pokemon Centers that used to exist. The colors and patterns were all different, but the layout was roughly the same. There were white tables and chairs scattered about, as well as a shiny, black reception counter. Computers and payphones lined the back wall. On each side of the room there were stairs that led down to the floor below.

I approached the reception. "Would you like a room?" The girl there asked, bored but polite. Just like her job required.

"I'm not sure," I answered honestly. "But could you tell me what this place is?" So far, I had gathered that it was an illegal refuge for trainers, supported by Doctor Lorri Kilbride and the Elm Lab. Other than that, I was a little short on details.

"It's like a Pokemon Center but better," she said in monotone. The boredom just radiated from her. "Plenty of rooms, plenty of food and a couple of other things all for free," she went on. "Illegal, obviously. And if you don't mind, could you tell new trainers that these places exist? It's a real help to them," she added. This, I knew. I suppose it made sense. This couldn't be public knowledge, otherwise the government would do something about it. It had to be talked about in hushed whispers, passed by word of mouth. Not an ideal system, but it clearly worked.

"These places?" I asked. "So there's more than just this one?"

"Yeah, there are five of them in Johto. There's here, there's one in the mountains near Blackthorn, there's one hidden in the Ruins of Alph, there's one in Ilex Forest somewhere and there's one in the Whirl Islands," she explained. I committed it to memory. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, can I have a room?" She didn't say anything, just fished out a key from under the desk and put it in my palm. I thanked her and made my way to the stairs. The two staircases seemed to lead to the same place.

The next floor was a small room with a handful of doors, each one labelled. There was a library, a cafeteria, a gym and a bar. As much as the thought of food was tempting, I took a visit to the library instead. Food could wait.

I browsed the rows and rows of shelves, making quick judgements going by the title and spine of the book. If one caught my attention, I'd read the blurb before deciding against it and putting it back. I was picky about the books that I read.

So, while reading the blurb of a cult novel about drug addicts and psychopaths, someone bumped into me. She was reading the back of a book with a picture of a pair of baseball boots on the cover. She looked up, apparently surprised at having bumped into someone. We were the only two people in the library.

She was really pretty. Not quite Doctor-Lorri-Kilbride-Level-Gorgeous, but she was very attractive. She had thick, straight, red hair that fell half way down her back, fair skin and, like me, green eyes, although hers were shielded by a pair of rectangular glasses. She was short and curvy - and no, by curvy I do not mean fat. She was dressed fairly normally, aside from an odd necklace that she wore. Attached to it was a tiny little square book, about an inch long.

"I didn't think anyone else would be in here," she commented.

"I did, to be honest with you. I thought reading was slightly more popular than this," I replied, gesturing to the rest of the empty library with my free hand. She gave a chuckle.

"I'm Eimear," she introduced herself, smiling. She had a nice smile.

"Ralph," I introduced myself in turn. "How long have you been training for?" I asked her. I needed some guidance on the subject of training. Not that I would ever admit that or explicitly ask for help. No, I'd get help without them ever knowing that they had helped me. I had my pride, and it was too massive to swallow.

"Just about three weeks," she replied. "I started out with an Eevee that I bought illegally with money I stole from my parents," she smirked, clearly quite pleased with herself. "Then I caught a Bellsprout a couple of days later and that's all I have," she continued. "What about yourself?" So, by the sounds of it she was an even shittier trainer than me. I mean, Combusken and Gastly trumps Eevee and Bellsprout.

"Maybe a week ago, I broke into the breeding facility where I worked, stole a Combusken, then when I was leaving I picked up a Gastly's pokeball that the delivery guys had dropped," I informed her, like breaking and entering was no big thing. She looked impressed. "I'm from Violet, so from there I traveled here 'cause I heard about this place," I added.

"I'm from Cherrygrove," she told me with a smile. Again, that sweet smile.

"You want to go get some lunch?" I gave her a smile of my own. I had a great smile and I knew it.

"Oh, where are you taking me?" She asked in mock excitement. It was a joke - the only place to get food would be the cafeteria.

I liked Eimear. She was cute, confident and clever, three things that I really liked. Not only was she clever, but she had a sharp wit, and I found wit very attractive. I mean, really, who doesn't apart from people that are too dense for it?

So, we took out our books - like the nerds that we really were - and left the library to go and get some food while I asked her what the hell a sign was.


	7. The Real World Of Training

A Dance In The Dark

Chapter Seven

The Real World Of Training

* * *

"So, wait, I have to wear something around my neck?" I asked, skeptical.

"Pretty much," Eimear replied, taking a small mouthful of soup. We were sitting at one of the plastic tables in the cafeteria in our plastic chairs. "It's meant to hint that you're a trainer. You see someone with something odd on a necklace, it's a good bet that they're a trainer," she went on.

"Not foolproof obviously, but not many things seem to be as far as training goes," I commented.

"So, what's your sign going to be?" She asked me, making eye contact, interested.

"Well I don't own any form of necklace, so I'm not exactly swimming in choices right now," I replied. "So yours is that microscopic book then?" I asked, changing the subject to her. The tiny little book on her necklace was currently hidden away underneath her top, but I had noticed it earlier.

"Yeah. There's a letter on each page, spells out a quote," she told me with a little smile.

"What quote?" I inquired, curious.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She grinned.

"Yes actually," I said, flashing a smile of my own.

"Tough," she smirked. "It's something private," she added.

So, we just talked and ate and laughed. The food was shit, but I'd barely eaten since I left home. I would have eaten vomit if its nutritional content was high enough for it to be of any culinary value. The talking and laughing was good, though. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I had laughed so much or enjoyed talking to another human being this much. She was smart and witty and could actually hold a conversation. I didn't find myself disliking her, which was far more than I could say for pretty much everyone else I knew.

Conversation was something that I actually really enjoyed. I was just really picky about it.

Eimear was really into books, that much I had guessed form our meeting in the library. During our conversation, though, I found that it was not just books, but literature that she was interested in. She read books, poems, plays and whatever else people write. I thought I liked reading, but this girl was on a whole different level. She even wrote things herself sometimes. She seemed a little embarrassed when she told me that, not that she had any reason to be. I liked it.

Then she asked what I was interested in and I told her that I liked physics. I liked maths and chemistry too, but physics was my favorite by a mile. And I didn't mean the school subject, I meant that I enjoyed the science. I read physics books, researched it, actually dedicated quite a large portion of my life to it. I knew what I was talking about when it came to physics. On more than one occasion, I had corrected my physics teacher back at school when he told me something. He didn't appreciate it.

The way I was with physics was like the way that Eimear was with literature.

Just in the middle of the conversation, I glanced up at the clock to check the time, just out of curiosity. It was nearly six. She saw my glance, followed it and read the time herself. "Shit!" She exclaimed, eyes widening.

"What?" I asked. I had basic reasoning skills, so I figured there was somewhere she was meant to be.

"I'd love to talk to you some more, but I really have to get going," she told me, biting her lip, a worried look on her face.

"Go where?" I asked her, curious.

"I'm..." She trailed off. "Doesn't really matter," she dismissed after some thought. "See you around," she called as she walked away.

"Bye," I called back. I had spoken to the girl for all of an hour, yet I missed her already.

I got up, felt around in my pocket for the key, just to make sure it was there and then made my way to the lower levels. After a short while searching, I finally infiltrated my own room.

I got to the sparsely furnished room and dumped my bag on the floor. I stripped and jumped into the tiny shower, actually groaning with pleasure as the water ran down my back. I had washed in a lake out in the wild, but that was different from washing with warm, clean water and soap and shampoo and the countless other luxuries that the average bathroom offered. I shaved when I got out the shower, eliminating the thin coat of stubble that had collected mostly around my neck and jawline, and changed into clean clothes, feeling fresh.

By the time I finished, it was about seven.

I let Gruen out of his ball and collapsed onto the plain white bed with my book. Everything in the room was white. It wasn't exactly friendly looking, but I was hardly complaining after spending time camping out in the wild. So, I read for an hour or two then stripped to my underwear and crawled into the bed for a well needed sleep.

As I lay there, staring into the darkness of the room as I tried to sleep, all I could think about was Eimear.

* * *

The next day brought some changes.

You see, now that the novelty of being a trainer had worn off, I found myself wondering what to do. The plan was to just wander around, training my Pokemon as I went along, expanding my team and trying not to die, but what else could I do besides that? Back in the old days, trainers had the Gym challenge and the Contest system and even the Pokeathlon competitions to compete for badges, ribbons or medals, but all of that was illegal now. Well, most of it anyway.

I overheard a group of slightly older trainers in the canteen. They were by no means veterans, but they weren't beginners like myself either. They were talking about Gym badges.

The Gym Leaders still existed, that much I knew. What I hadn't known, however, was that they were still operating. The eight Gym Leaders that had been in position before the war weren't all still alive. Five of them were still alive: Jan, Zach, L.J, Kate and Reece. One of the remaining three positions would probably be filled by ex-Elite Four member Leon - the Elite Four had been disbanded after the war. As for the other two positions, I had no idea who would be filling them.

Anyway, I approached the trainers that were talking. If the Gym Leaders were still operating then I was going to get their badges. I had to know where they were operating.

"You're talking about the Gym Leaders?" I asked. The group of trainers looked up at me expectantly.

"Yeah, so?" One of them said after a while. Not rude, just genuinely wondering what I wanted.

"He's a new trainer," a fair haired trainer called out, speaking like the others were idiots.

"Nah, he's not, I saw him with a Combusken earlier," one of the others disagreed.

"So? If I gave a noob a Combusken would that mean he's not a noob anymore? Come on, this guy doesn't even have a sign," fair hair argued. "And he's asking about Gym Leaders as well," he added.

"Yeah, I'm just starting," I confirmed, really just wishing they'd hurry up and tell me the score.

"Right, well the Gym Leaders are still here, still handing out badges," fair hair spoke. I feared he'd be condescending, but he just seemed helpful more than anything else. "You know that L.J, Kate, Jan, Reece and Zach are all still alive, right?" I nodded. "Well Elite Four Leon filled the next position." My suspicions were confirmed. "And the other two were filled by Forrest Wilbanks and Linus...What's his last name again?"

"Ferrie," another trainer called out helpfully.

I knew enough on both these characters. Aside from the media attention they had received throughout the Civil War, I had also researched them both thoroughly. Both had fought for the trainers during the Johto Civil War.

Forrest was the traditional hero. He started at a sort of medium rank, but worked his up until he was one of the leaders. Tyrannical Tyson - the leader of the trainers - still outranked him, but Forrest had more supporters than almost any other trainer in Johto at that time because of his strength, intelligence, dedication and bravery. He could have assumed control of the trainers, but he didn't want to. No, all he wanted to do was fight for what he believed was right.

Linus was a maverick. He had started out with the trainers at the same rank as Forrest - who was his best friend since long before the war - but quickly left them, sick of the - Forrest aside - selfish leaders of the war. He just disappeared during a small skirmish on Cianwood one day and started wandering the region, intercepting and terrorizing government forces whenever he happened upon them. Trainers everywhere looked up to him for his independence and his power. He was perhaps the only trainer with popularity greater than Forrest.

Both were on the government's most wanted list. They were clever, skilled, experienced and dangerous. The government didn't want those kind of people roaming about.

"Yeah, that one," fair hair confirmed, bringing me back to reality.

"Where can I find them?" I asked him. The trainers all gave out small laughs. Not mocking, just genuinely amused at my lack of experience.

"That's the thing," fair hair started. "They need to keep moving, just like regular trainers, so you need to track them down," he went on.

"Sometimes you'll get lucky and find one staying at a Trainer House, but don't bet on it," another trainer chipped in.

"So they could be anywhere in the region and I just need to find them?" I was incredulous. Johto was a big place and they could be anywhere.

"It's not as bad as all that," fair hair told me cheerily. "There are pluses to this kind of system as well."

"Such as?" I prompted.

"Well, these days you might find the Gym Leader with a weakened team or you might find them drunk or something," he informed me. "Hell of a lot easier to win."

"Drunk? Seriously?" I could not believe what I was hearing.

"Happens more often than you'd think," he laughed. "Gym Leader Linus is particularly notorious for being drunk during battles."

"Not that it makes much of a difference when it comes to him, he'd sweep your entire team anyway," another trainer pointed out.

"Yeah, the guy's lethal," fair hair agreed.

"How many Gym Leaders have you guys found?" I asked.

"Most of us have found four or five each," fair hair answered. "And we've been training for nearly a year. Took me five months of training until I found my first Gym Leader, though," he went on.

"I suggest you train for a few months. Just train and travel, focus on learning how to live like a trainer. If you can do that, then you can try and seek out a Gym Leader," another trainer spoke up. That sounded like a plan.

"Thanks," I said simply, before turning on my heel and walking away, towards the stairs.

* * *

Author's note : More explanation than anything else but w/e, idc.

The Correctional Facility will lack an update this week btw, 'cause I've had no time to write really. University offers that are stressing me out and such.

And also, if there isn't an update and it's Wednesday, just be patient and stop asking if it's getting updated. I'm from the UK and I usually update like six/seven at night, so there you go, now you have times. And we're, what, six hours ahead of US? So early afternoon you can usually expect your update.


	8. The Thudding Sound Of Progress

A Dance In The Dark

Chapter Eight

The Thudding Sounds Of Progress

* * *

Author's Note : I know there was no update last week, but it was Christmas. I figured people would all have better things to do.

* * *

I stayed at the Trainer House for an extra two days, just recuperating. The rule in the Trainer House was that we were not allowed to leave, train in the nearest route for a day and then come back. It would draw too much attention. So, I washed, ate and slept for a couple of days, not really doing anything. Eimear was apparently gone, and I had nothing else to really do, so I left after the two days because I started to feel bored.

I settled back into the routine when I was back out in route twenty-nine. Gruen and Nestor kicked and licked their way to victory against the native Pokemon as we traveled. Gruen wasn't a problem, as per usual, but Nestor was still a worry. He didn't try anything that first day, but I was keeping an eye on him. I had to pay such close attention that it actually slowed us down.

As far as traveling options went, I had no choice really but to go back the way I came. I could technically have tried route forty-six. I could probably have tackled the little mountains without the gear - many trainers before me had done it - but it was a tough place to survive in. The wild Pokemon were some of the toughest in the entire region, and camping there was no picnic. The place was pretty much crawling with government trainers as well. Not really a feasible option.

When I had left Violet, I had decided to come the way I had because going with either of the other two options would likely kill me. Gruen and Nestor were strong enough now, though. I figured that those two, along with any other Pokemon that I caught along with way, would be enough for me to power my way through routes thirty-five and thirty-six and on towards Ecruteak. Of course, I could always go route thirty-two from Violet, but I still wasn't confident enough in my camping skills to do so.

So, to sum up. From New Bark, through route twenty-nine and onto Cherrygrove, from there I pass through routes thirty and thirty-one, pass through Violet, power my way through routes thirty-five and thirty-six. Then after that, who knows?

It was night, the sky was a deep, dark blue and I was seriously considering setting up camp for the night when I spotted someone. Well, I thought it was a person at first anyway. I called to the figure and it turned around. Well, she turned around. She was a Gothorita. My heart nearly stopped.

Gothita were rare around these parts, but it wasn't out of the ordinary to encounter one. Not that encountering a Gothita was a particularly exciting prospect. Gothorita, though? Those really were odd to find out here. It was rare for a Gothita to be required to evolve in such an easy route, but it did happen clearly.

The Gothorita had pure black skin, but aside from that it resembled a person for the most part. It was eerie. She wore a tattered black skirt and crop top that were really just rags. They might once have been nice, might once have actually covered up some skin, but not anymore. Her black and white hair was elaborately tied up, parts of her white hair tied to resemble bows.

The closest relatives of modern humans, the Gothita line were known primarily for their calculating nature. They often wore the clothes of wandering humans they had killed - hence why the one I was looking at was wearing clothes. Also, though, they were renowned for their cruelty. Not for simply being brutal in order to survive, but for actually being needlessly cruel. Known to torture, kill and not even eat random Pokemon, they were not a very well liked species.

It was, however, strong for a Pokemon in this area. And I wanted it.

"Gruen. Nestor." I spoke quietly, calmly. They both returned to me, eyeing the figure warily. They sensed that this opponent was tough. "Let's go."

I started walking towards the Gothorita, my two Pokemon trailing behind me. If it decided to run, I knew that both Gruen and Nestor could chase it down. Hell, I could probably chase it down, the species isn't exactly known for its physical prowess. As we got closer, I got a better look at it. It intrigued me just how much she looked like a human. Apart from the skin color and hair, she was more or less identical to the average teenage girl.

"Double kick," I said calmly to Gruen when we were close enough - maybe six feet from the creature. The Gothorita had noticed my calm tone of voice and incorrectly assumed that I meant her no harm.

The chicken took two massive steps forward, spun and lashed out with a kick to her thigh. It sent her to one knee with a cry of pain. Gruen rotated once more and caught her in the hinge of the jaw with a second kick. His precision was astounding.

"Lick!" Nestor was suddenly behind the Gothorita, tongue lolling out of his terrifying mouth. He whipped her with his tongue, catching her on the back of her shoulders. I couldn't see it, but I knew there would be a hideous welt rising already.

While they were doing this, I opened my bag and located one of the pokeballs that I had stolen from Oscar's. Just a standard pokeball.

I didn't give any more commands. I didn't need to. The Gothorita may have had psychic powers, but with the onslaught from both Gruen and Nestor, she wasn't getting a chance to use any of them. I just watched as Gruen landed kick after kick, slapping her about with his feet. the plan was to wait until she was unconscious until I threw the pokeball, but watching the abuse she was taking I decided that enough was enough and threw the pokeball early.

I didn't need to wait for the ball to stop twitching to know that I had caught her. She was really in a bad way after that assault and probably wouldn't even be able to walk in the near future. Fighting a capture was more or less out of the question.

So, with the addition of a Gothorita to my team, I returned Nestor and set up camp. Gruen was learning the routine by now and was passing me the things I needed. He often got things mixed up, but at least he was learning. He helped me set up the stove as well, then went and killed a Pidgey for me. I hadn't told him to do that, but he had figured it out anyway. I really couldn't tell if he was a clever Pokemon or not.

We crawled into the tent after our dinner - which I managed to prepare without being sick this time - with Gruen sleeping in his usual corner while I crawled into my sleeping bag on the opposite side and was asleep as soon as my eyes shut.

My sleep was a short, restless one and I was woken up a mere couple of hours later by a steady thudding noise. I bolted awake and was out of my sleeping bag in seconds, already dressed, and turned to Gruen. Actually, I did not turn to Gruen because Gruen was not there, but I turned to his usual corner and my mind went into overdrive.

Wild Pokemon.

Poachers.

Government.

Thieves.

Police.

Where the hell was Gruen?

I reached into my bag and pulled out Nestor's pokeball. It felt lighter than Gruen's, lighter even than an empty pokeball - a side effect of a ghost inhabiting it. It already felt like a bad idea because Gruen wasn't there to protect me, so I armed myself with deodorant and a lighter as well. It was not just in case I had to fight off Nestor.

Yes, I was panicking, but I was nothing if not rational. I made sure I prepared myself first, even if it took a precious handful of seconds.

I sneaked around the back of my tent and listened. The thudding was coming from the trees to my left. With the lighter clutched in one hand, Nestor's Pokeball in the other and my can of deodorant in one pocket, I tiptoed through the forest, sidestepping branches, getting closer to the thudding noise. My heart was thudding as well.

I came into a small clearing. In the center was one particularly tall, thick tree. Gruen stood in front of it, firing kick after kick into it, hard and fast and constant, spinning kicks and side kicks and straight kicks and low kicks and high kicks and axe kicks and everything in between. His shins and feet were bleeding and his eyes were so narrow they were almost closed. He had been kicking it for so long that a good portion of the trunk had been battered away, leaving the tree close to breaking and toppling over.

"Gruen," I said, calmly. He didn't hear me. I hardly heard myself. "Gruen!" Louder this time. More authoritative. He stopped kicking, turned his head to one side and looked at me. His eye was swelling. Not a lot, but it was noticeable. He had been hurt a little, I assumed during a skirmish out here in the forest while I had been sleeping.

In all the months that I had known Gruen, he had only done this twice, once when he had lost to a Swampert and once when he had lost to two Hitmonlee back at the breeding facility. It wasn't losing that put him in this mood, it was losing to someone that he thought he could have beaten. He would consider it a personal failure, go into a training frenzy and push himself well past his limits to the point where he was in danger of damaging himself. These were the times where he wouldn't even listen to Oscar. I could coax him out of his frenzy, but it was a difficult task, and one that I'd have to handle with caution.

"Precaution," I said, loud and clear. He knew what that meant. It was one of his jobs back at the breeding facility, and it basically meant that he was to watch over me while I dealt with a potentially dangerous Pokemon and if it turned violent he was to manhandle it and make sure I didn't die. He was good at that job. Really good. I'd have died on several occasions without him.

"Let's go," I urged him. He was in danger of breaking his leg off of the tree. That's what he had done after losing to the two Hitmonlee. He had kicked the corner of the building so hard that he had broken his shin and had to be taken into an emergency unit. He nearly had to be euthanized.

He brought his leg back and let out one more beastly kick, striking the tree dead center, right at the weakest part. It gave a tremble but didn't topple. I couldn't help but feel that this tree must be in physical pain, lack of nerves be damned. It just looked a sorry mess.

Gruen walked towards me, head bowed low, breathing heavily, limping. He wasn't by any means happy or calm, but he wasn't being difficult at least. I could work with that.


	9. Eidetic

A Dance In The Dark

Chapter Nine

Eidetic

* * *

"Jesus," the psychologist exhaled, looking at the piece of paper he was holding. He had just totalled my score. He just had this blank look on his face, like he wasn't really sure where to go from here.

"Is it above a hundred?" I asked him. I suspected it was indeed above a hundred. Far above, actually, but I didn't tell him that because I would have looked like a colossal idiot if I had somehow scored below.

The psychologist actually laughed. "Enjoy your life, kid," he smiled, handing me the piece of paper. His handwriting was atrocious, but I made out the double underlined number at the bottom of the page anyway.

"A hundred and seventy six?" I asked him dumbly. I had been expecting in excess of a hundred, but I wasn't prepared for quite as much excess as that. In fact, I felt slightly ridiculous.

"Genius is an understatement," he commented. "I'm a little jealous," he added with a little laugh.

"What." It wasn't a question. It was a vocalization that showed just how unbelievable I found this. Must be a prank. I was just some uncool kid that got made fun of at school. I was no genius.

* * *

I woke up feeling suitably stressed the next day. I had a frustrated Combusken, a murderous Gastly and an angry Gothorita on my hands and wasn't really feeling up to the task of dealing with them. Still, deal with them I must.

I decided to tackle the Gothorita first. She was probably still in pain from her beating at the hands of Gruen and Nestor.

I had decided that her name was Darroch. It was the name of a character in a book that I had read - she was an underage girl that had sex with guys, claiming that she was old enough, then got them arrested for consensual rape just for kicks.

She appeared in a burst of light, then collapsed promptly to the ground. She just sat there, on her knees, hands in her lap and staring at the ground. I walked around the back of her and only realized then how much pain she must be in. Her skin was meant to be black, but most of it appeared purple or blue with bruising. She had huge, hideous welts where Nestor had been lashing her with his tongue, and some strikes had even split the skin.

I sat down behind her and opened my bag. I wasn't really worrying about myself - she was in too much pain to do anything much aside from sitting on the ground. I pulled out all the medical supplies I had and arranged them in front of me, trying to figure out how to tackle the problem of my Gothorita.

I first decided to take a tube of salve and spread some on the largest of the welts on her back. It was just a long, raised line that stretched from one shoulder blade to the other. I felt her stiffen as soon as the salve touched her, but she relaxed again seconds later as it began to take effect. I repeated the same procedure on her other welts and then moved onto the more serious problem of the split skin.

As soon as my hand touched her injury, she let out an audible hiss. I tensed, fearing that she might whirl and attack me, but she stayed still. I rubbed the salve onto the cut and felt her stiffen, felt her breath deepen. This was painful. Very painful.

I stood and retrieved a bottle of water from my bag. Darroch stood up, brushed herself off and took the bottle from me. She raised it to her lips and took a short drink then handed it back.

Good, we seemed to be on the same page.

Then her right hand darted out and she dug her nails into the right side of my face. I felt the blood streaming down my face and screamed. The nail of her index finger near enough speared my ear while the nail of her little finger was an inch, if that, from my eye. It wasn't that painful, but it was scary and I knew it would hurt a little while later. Like a lot of injuries, the worst was a little while after you sustained it.

Gruen slipped out from behind the tent and sprinted up behind Darroch. She heard him just as he launched a kick into the muscle of her thigh. He could have went for the knee and totally incapacitated her, but Oscar had taught him not to target joints unless it was a matter of life and death. It did not do well for Gruen to go about breaking the bones of the Pokemon that Oscar was going to sell on.

As soon as Gruen's kick landed, Darroch removed her hand from my face and clutched at her thigh. With her hand gone, my own hand went to my face instead, smearing the blood all over my cheek and even getting some in my eye.

Still behind Darroch, Gruen wrapped a long arm around her throat. Her neck caught in the crook of his arm, he tightened and cut off her oxygen supply. She grasped at his arm while he rocketed a knee into her back, hitting her kidney. Ouch. She'd be pissing blood for a week.

As her struggling lessened, Gruen hooked one of his legs around both of hers and pushed forward, tripping her and sending her face first into the grass.

I really had made the right choice when choosing a starter to steal from Oscar's.

Darroch stood up, slowly, and turned to face Gruen and I. She looked ready to take her chances with Gruen. After all, she had the type advantage and she was more intelligent. Then again, Gruen had more experience, and he was quite basically stronger.

"Go on," I goaded her. "Take your chances," I smirked, smug. She couldn't understand my words, but she could sure as hell understand my tone and facial expressions. She knew the message I was trying to convey, even if she didn't understand the language.

Her eyes glowed pink, and I saw Gruen start to glow the same color. I didn't panic, I knew he could take her.

Gruen could have struggled and physically expended energy breaking out of the psychic hold, but he had experience. He knew there were better ways to deal with such things. He went sailing back, towards a tree. He wasn't flying at any great speed - it would still hurt if he crashed into the tree, but it would hardly kill or really injure him. He planted both feet on the tree and kicked off it, rebounding the way he had come, totally unharmed. He hit the ground running, fast.

Darroch's eyes glowed pink again, but Gruen was way too fast and darting from side to side too much. She just couldn't get a hold of him. The thing with psychic attacks is that they take practice. Grabbing hold of a target psychically is easy, but not when they're moving quickly and irregularly.

He reached her and sent a side kick into her stomach, sending her flying back. She doubled over and tried to curl into a ball as she flew through the air. She was pretty much done.

Two birds with one stone. I had now dealt with both the issue of Gruen, and the issue of Darroch. Gruen now didn't feel useless and worthless, while Darroch knew that unless she stopped acting up, she'd be the team's bitch.

And the issue of the ever murderous Nestor was never going to go away, let's face it. I had tidied up my team as much as I could really.

I returned Darroch - who was still lying in the foetal position - and released Nestor instead. While he was murderous and not even remotely trustworthy, he was predictable and stood to gain little from harming me. I could provide him with food while taking him around the region so that he could terrorize small creatures. I could count on him.

So, the rest of the day passed with me travelling. Just travelling while Gruen and Nestor honed their skills against the natives. I was giving Darroch yet more rest time, but I knew that would have to stop soon. She needed to train, just like the other two.

Not a whole lot happened while we walked, and eventually we just set up camp and the three of us ate. Darroch could eat with us when she started to behave herself. So we ate, I returned the other two because I wanted some quiet time, then I lay down on the dry grass and read. I read a hundred and five pages before I put the book down. I noted the time and decided I should probably climb into my tent and sleep, but before I could do so my mind shut off without my consent and I slept.

* * *

I woke up cold. And I woke up with someone on top of me. No, not someone actually. No, it was something. It was my Gothorita.

I was scared.

How she had escaped her pokeball was beyond me. I had neglected to put any of the pokeballs away, so maybe hers had simply rolled into something. Maybe a wild pokemon had bumped into it. I didn't know, nor did I care. The only thing I knew was that the psychic almost-human with lethal fingernails was straddling me and there was nothing I could do about it.

I can only describe her face as cruel. She was smiling wide, but it was a nasty smile. Her legs spread on either side of me, she lowered herself onto my chest. I wanted to stop her, but she'd have just skinned me alive.

That's when I realized that it wasn't Nestor I had to worry about. No, it was the calmer, cleverer, crueller Darroch that was the issue.

Her right hand crept up my face, her long, sharp fingernails tickling my skin. I did not like it. Those blades on the ends of her fingers could have punctured my eye or given me a fucking Chelsea grin had she wished it. They were sharp.

The nails on her other hand danced about my throat, threatening playfully. She could just kill me outright, but she was enjoying toying with me too much. Pretty much what her species was renowned for.

My mind was in overdrive, trying to think up a plan of some kind, but I was out of luck. There was nothing in reach aside from the grass beneath me. I was probably fast enough to retrieve my lighter from my pocket before she gutted me, but what use would that be? I'd have a better chance if I just punched her in the face. After which, she'd get up and slaughter me with a combination of her nails and psychic powers anyway. I was fucked.

One nail caught the neckline of my t-shirt and slowly pulled down. I heard the ripping noise before I figured out what she was doing. My t-shirt fell away from me, sliced right down the middle by a single nail. Shit.

One hand was still drifting over my face, the other moved down to my chest.

I inhaled sharply, feeling her nails digging in. I felt her pull, felt the four gouges as they were carved into my chest. The blood was starting to flow and I was starting to get beyond scared. She was going to kill me. My own Pokemon was honest to God going to kill me.

I pulled my fist back, readying a punch. She'd end up killing me. I knew that was probably going to happen, but it was better than doing nothing. I was going to go down fighting. The law wasn't taking me down without a fight. Cancer wasn't taking me down without a fight. Neither was my Pokemon. I tensed, ready to let loose with a right hook.

Then the sole of a boot slammed into the side of her head and she fell off of me.

Darroch's attacker stepped over me and towered over her form on the floor. Before she could so much as make her eyes glow, he swung a boot into her jaw, then raised one foot and brought it down on her skull. She wasn't doing a whole lot of moving after a few strikes like that.

Her attacker was obviously a male. He was tall and slim, but he had muscles on him. I guess most people would consider him athletically built. He wore a long sleeved, gray thermal t-shirt and dark jeans with worn, brown boots - although they were now flecked with red. He looked down at me and offered a hand up.

"Arcadian Grimshaw," he introduced himself. Wow. What a grand name. I allowed him to help me to my feet, after which I could get a better look at him. He was even taller than I first thought, standing a good handful of inches closer to the sky than myself. He had blonde hair, like me, but his was lighter. His looked almost white, and while I had longer hair, he had a messy shock of blonde on top of his head. There was something off about his facial expression as well. It's hard to describe, but it's sort of like it just didn't look right. Like it looked out of place.

"Ralph Heenan," I introduced myself in return. I heard Darroch stirring and practically dived at her pokeball. It was sitting next to my bag, next to Gruen's and Nestor's. It had indeed rolled into a rock. Wonderful. I aimed the beam at her and returned her before cramming all three balls angrily into my pocket.

"You look like you need a hand," Arcadian observed.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," I deadpanned.


End file.
